It Happens to All of Us
by PlayerPiano
Summary: Victor's back in the Land of the Dead. Only this time he's 83 years old, and has a lot of catching up to do.
1. The Pinball Champ

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to "Corpse Bride" or its characters.

**Dedication:** This fic is dedicated to the memory of the seven (count'em, seven) elderly people in my area over the past three months who met fates similar to Victor's in this story. You'll get it when you reach Chapter 4.

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_"Now there are some things we all know, but we don't take'em out and look at'em very often. We all know that something is eternal, and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars... everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being."_

_--"Our Town" by Thornton Wilder_

O---O

I.

"NEW ARRIVAL!" The announcement was followed by what sounded like a fire alarm. Several people cheered. Victor suddenly found himself entering the cheery little pub, unable to say how he got there. Looking around, Victor realized that it all looked awfully familiar. There was a lot of colored light, clanging music, and loud voices. At a loss, Victor headed for the bar, and the bartender immediately set bubbling drink in front of him. He was a little disoriented. _I shouldn't be at a bar, I'm supposed to be at Alice's birthday party,_ he thought. Then he took a moment to really look around at his surroundings. And it finally dawned on him. _Uh-oh._

Of course. The Ball and Socket Pub. _How did this happen? _Victor wondered, staring into his drink. Well, of course he knew _how _it happened, but when? Victor honestly couldn't recall dying. And he certainly hadn't accidentally married any corpses on his way to his great-granddaughter's sweet sixteen. So what had happened?

"I guess I'm not going to Alice's birthday party," Victor murmured. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the noise around him, trying to think. When had this happened? He remembered waking up that morning (had it been that morning?), and leaving the house. It had been pouring rain. After that, there was nothing. _I think I really am dead. _Victor opened his eyes. _I'm dead!_ he thought again. He smiled. _Finally. _Victor had been waiting for this for two years. _Victoria! _he thought, delighted.

It was the first time in a very long while that he'd thought about Victoria without crying. Only two years ago, just after her eighty-first birthday, Victoria had died in her sleep. Victor had wanted to die too. It had been such a shock--she'd been absolutely fine that night when she'd gone to bed, and the next morning, when he'd gone in to see why she wasn't awake yet...It had been, without a doubt, the single worst day of his entire life. The two years that had followed weren't much better. Victor, of course, knew where she'd gone to, and knew that he'd see her again eventually. But the knowledge hadn't made her death any easier. After sixty-two happy years with Victoria, after four children and a dozen grandchildren and great-grandchildren, it didn't seem possible or fair for life to continue without her. Somehow, Victor had expected--and wanted--the world to stop the day she'd been buried. Victor had thought about her every single day, and missed her more than he could tell. There just weren't words for the kind of pain he'd felt since he'd lost Victoria--he'd walked around their home in a daze, lost in memories, causing his family to worry about him quite a bit.

_Oh yes, the children--my family, _Victor thought. They'd be sad he was gone, he supposed. Yet, as much as he loved them, they seemed rather distant now, all the same. He'd miss them. But he'd see them again. Besides, all of that was done now. Life was over with, and here he was. Finally. All Victor could think about was seeing Victoria again. All of the sadness that he'd been carrying around for two years was instantly replaced by excitement and expectation.

"Victoria, darling..." Victor said, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until someone answered him.

"What was that, Gramps?" asked a voice from the stool next to him, interrupting his thoughts. Victor turned, and saw a young man wearing what looked like a tattered army uniform. The young man had no arms, Victor noticed. Most of his face had rotted away already as well. War casualty, apparently. _Poor kid, _Victor thought.

"Sorry, I don't hear so good," the young man continued. "Got my ears blown off when Dresden was fire-bombed. Lost my arms, too," he added unnecessarily, rolling his shoulders and making the protruding bits of bone wag up and down.

"I'm sorry," Victor said. And he was. This young man couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen. Twenty, at the outside. How awful. Suddenly Victor felt tremendously guilty for living into his eighties.

But the young man shrugged. Had he been able to, Victor was sure he would have waved a hand dismissively. "No big deal, really. At least I came home almost in one piece," he said. He jerked his head in the direction of the far corner of the room. "Ted, though--they had to send him home in a shoebox. Not a lot left." Victor looked over at the corner, and sure enough, there were some...er, bits and pieces lying on a table. From what Victor could see, poor Ted had been reduced to a couple of ribs, the top part of his head, and a hand. Ted swiveled his eyes at hearing his name, and the disembodied hand gave a little wave.

"Yeah, he had to work out a way to talk by blinking," the young man explained as Victor waved at Ted. "Dunno what we're gonna do when his eyelids are gone. He can always tap out Morse Code on the table, I guess. I'm Peter, by the way. I'd shake your hand, but, you know..."

"Oh! No, no, that's all right," Victor said, turning back to Peter. "I'm Victor Van Dort." How strange all this was. Being dead, first of all, was rather odd in itself. Victor didn't feel all that different from the way he usually did--a little cold, maybe, and he was aware that he wasn't breathing anymore, but it wasn't bad. Ever since his experiences as a young man in the Land of the Dead, Victor had often wondered what scared people so much about dying. _Probably the separation from loved ones, _Victor realized with a pang.

"Nice to meet you," Peter said. He paused, looking Victor up and down. "Can I ask you something?"

"I suppose," Victor replied. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, if you don't mind...What the hell happened to your head?"

Victor blinked. "What? Why? What's wrong with my head?" He lifted his right hand and felt around his scalp. Everything _seemed _fine. The war had obviously turned this Peter fellow funny, to use the expression people were so fond of. Just as Victor was about to reprimand the young man for cursing, a new voice broke in.

"Victor Van Dort? No kidding!" said the voice from behind him. Victor turned, and found himself eye to socket with a nattily dressed skeleton. Victor cocked an eyebrow. The cheery, bombastic voice sounded awfully familiar.

"How've you been?" the skeleton asked, extending a bony hand. Victor shook it, still trying to figure out who this was. He eyed the skeleton, taking in the white suit and blue striped tie. The outfit, like the voice, was irritatingly familiar. Victor knew this person, and couldn't place him. _You'd think death would cure senility, _Victor thought, frustrated. The pause was becoming awkward.

"Don't...don't tell me you don't recognize me!" exclaimed the skeleton. Victor shook his head apologetically. The skeleton sighed as he leaned against the bar. "Come on, now...You don't recognize your own son-in-law?" After thinking for a moment, Victor grinned.

"Fred! Of course! How are you?" He leaned over and grasped Fred's skeletal forearm. "It's been almost thirty years!" How could he have forgotten Fred? True, without the muscles, blond hair, and ruddy complexion, Fred looked very different, but his energy was unmistakable. Dropping his jaw in what passed for a skeletal grin, Fred clapped Victor on the shoulder.

Fred had been a magazine photographer when he was alive. Victor and Victoria's youngest daughter, Mary, had married Fred...when? Victor tried to pull memories back to the fore. Must have been 1921 or thereabouts, because Victor distinctly remembered Mary being twenty at the time. Mary and Fred had only been married for four years when Fred had come home early from an assignment in India. He'd caught some kind of sickness. No one had figured out what it was, and by the time he was at home, it was too late. Victor felt a pang, remembering. It hadn't been fair, not at all. Mary had been absolutely devastated by his death. They all had been.

But now here Fred was, his cheery old self. It was wonderful to see him.

"You sure look different," Fred told him, taking a seat.

"Well, so do you," Victor replied, leaning his elbows on the bar tentatively, and then relaxing. After almost twenty years of painful arthritis, Victor was pleased to find that he could move around and bend quite easily. "But people tell me I look rather good for eighty-three. Well, I mean, people _told_ me." Victor gave a little laugh before he added, "I suppose I should get used to using the past tense now, eh?"

Fred laughed, clapping Victor on the shoulder again. "Yes, you aged very well, Dad." Victor smiled. Fred had been the only one of his daughters' husbands to ever call him "Dad." Just hearing it brought back some very nice memories of his daughters, and their families...and Victoria...

"How is Mary, by the way?" Fred asked, rapping his knuckles on the bar. The bartender set down a putrid-looking concoction in front of him. Victor didn't want to know what it was. He watched as Fred knocked back the drink, and found himself wondering how Fred kept the liquid from seeping out into his clothes. He didn't have a stomach, after all. _One of the afterlife's great mysteries,_ Victor decided.

"She's doing very well; I think she started working for a publisher last year. But even now, she misses you," Victor answered. "She's actually living in New York City now, of all places." Victor decided not to mention that Mary lived there with her second husband and two grown children. Fred didn't need to hear that.

"Good for her. Glad to hear she's okay," Fred said, ordering another drink. They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Victor wondered again where Victoria was. She had to be around here somewhere. He was getting very impatient to see her. It had been two years, after all. Two agonizing years.

"Fred," Victor finally said, unable to wait any longer. "Where is my wife, Victoria? Is she here?" He waited with bated breath (well, his breath would have been bated, had he been breathing) for Fred to finish swallowing his drink.

"Dear old mother-in-law?" Fred asked. Victor nodded impatiently. "Of course she's down here. In fact," Fred turned around to scan the room, "I saw her come in not twenty minutes ago."

"Well, where is she now?" Victor asked, looking around. It was awfully crowded. He tried to remember what outfit Victoria had been buried in, thinking that it might help him spot her. He couldn't recall.

"Don't know," Fred answered. "Didn't see where she went. I wasn't paying all that much attention, sorry."

Victor didn't bother to answer. He was quickly turning his head this way and that, trying to take in the whole room. He didn't want to miss Victoria, if she was there. Suddenly Victor heard a soft popping noise, and felt something drop against his cheek. He stopped, and held his head still. _That's...strange,_ Victor thought. He was looking across the room at the fireplace, but he could see his foot and a patch of floor at the same time.

"How odd," Victor said aloud, trying to bring his eyes into focus. It wasn't happening. Victor started to panic a little.

"What's odd?" Fred asked, looking over at him. Victor turned around again to face his former son-in-law. He could see Fred out of his right eye, but his left one seemed firmly focused on the floor.

"Jeeze," Fred said, putting his glass down. "What the hell happened to your head?"

"That's what I wanted to know," Peter piped in from Victor's other side. "He wouldn't tell me."

"What is _wrong _with my head?" Victor asked, somewhat exasperated. Without letting Fred or Peter respond, he continued, "For that matter, what's wrong with my eyes? I feel like a chameleon." He tried to move his left eye, but it didn't work. This out of focus double vision was getting quite irritating.

Fred burst out laughing. Victor glared at him out of his working eye until he composed himself.

"Sorry, Dad," Fred finally said. He pointed at Victor's face. "Uh, I think...I think your eye just kind of...fell out of place. Just wedge it back in, it'll be fine."

"My _eye_ fell out of place?" Victor stared. Fred nodded. With his left hand, Victor felt along his cheekbone. Sure enough, his eye seemed to be a bit lower than normal. So that's what that popping noise had been. His face felt odd as well, but Victor couldn't quite describe how.

"That's a little embarrassing," Victor said as, with a squelching sort of pop, he managed to get his eyeball reset in its socket. To Victor's relief, his eyesight seemed to be set to rights again.

Fred waved a hand. "Nah, don't worry about it," he said reassuringly. "Happens to all of us." Fred looked at the left side of Victor's face again, making Victor feel quite self-conscious. "I hope your kids sued whatever mortician worked on you," he added with a chuckle.

Before Victor could ask what _that _meant, there was a sudden commotion on the far side of the room. He turned and saw a group of people huddled around a pinball machine. One of them had apparently just won, judging by the way the machine was ringing and buzzing and flashing its lights. Looking at the group, Victor realized that almost all of them were young soldiers. Or had been, at one point. Kids in uniform who had come back to their families in pine boxes almost a decade ago now. There were about six of them, and all were in various states of decay. Some were missing limbs, others looked more or less whole, if a little rotted. All of them looked to be having quite a good time, however--they were huddled around whichever of them had scored all of those points. Victor couldn't see who it was, since the young men were blocking his view. Victor watched them, feeling a bit sad. Maybe "reminiscent" was a better word. He'd been young once. So had Victoria. And they'd been alive. Victor decided that when he finally found her, he was going to ask Victoria if she wanted to try a game of pinball. It looked like fun.

"Hey, Tom!" someone yelled from a table near the back. "Who's the big winner?"

One of the ex-soldiers, a twenty-ish man with half of his face missing, turned and called back, "She is..._again_!" He sounded pleased. "So Bill and me just won ten drinks each!" Tom turned to one of his buddies, a man wearing a navy uniform peppered with bullet-holes. He looked rather ticked off. "Come on, George--pay up!"

Grumbling, George the navy man started walking toward the bar, presumably to order the drinks he owed. As he passed, Victor heard him call back over his shoulder, "I can't believe that...How did she get so good at pinball, anyhow?"

"Practice," Peter answered when George arrived at the bar. "She's been playing ever since she got here. She turned out to be a natural." He gave the still-grumbling George a light kick in the shin, since he couldn't clap him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, but a little old lady..." George shook his head. "I can't believe it."

"Ah, don't be sore about it," one of the other soldiers shouted. "I told you it was a bad idea to put your money on Frank. She _always _beats him."

"She always beats all of us," someone else added.

"Who? Who are they talking about?" Victor asked, turning to Fred. But his question was lost amid the catcalls and whistles and shouts flying across the room. He looked back at the pinball machine. Suddenly he noticed small, white-haired woman in a blue dress shaking hands good-naturedly with one of the young men. Victor stared. Slowly, he slid off of his stool, keeping his gaze on the woman.

"Yeah," the young soldier named Tom said, putting a hand on the woman's shoulder. She smiled at him in a motherly way, looking quite pleased with herself. Seeing that smile, Victor felt his heart stop (well, metaphorically, anyway). Victor began walking toward the pinball machine.

As Victor neared the group, Tom continued, "When it comes to pinball, it's always a good idea to put your money on--"

"Victoria!" Victor said. Everyone turned to look at him. Victoria stared, and then clapped her hands to her mouth as she recognized him. She seemed to be somewhere between laughing and crying. Victor knew how she felt. Neither of them moved, just stood there grinning rather stupidly at each other.

"Yes, exactly!" Tom replied with a laugh. He looked over at the bar. "Hey, George, where are my drinks?"


	2. Reconnecting

II.

"Victoria!" Victor said again, taking a step forward. He wasn't sure how to proceed. His mind felt all jumbled up. The only coherent thought getting through was the most important one: _It's Victoria!_

The group of young men, sensing a "moment" about to ensue, quickly scattered to various tables, leaving the area around the pinball machine to Victor and Victoria. Victoria took her hands away from her face, clasping them in front of her as she tilted her head and smiled at him. Victor knew those gestures so well...he loved her so much...he'd missed her so terribly...Oh, drat it all, he was going to cry. Victor pressed his lips together and blinked a few times, trying to avoid making a complete spectacle out of himself.

Her skin was the same color blue as the dress she'd been buried in, her hands and the lower part of her neck were already almost skeletal, and a bit of her nose was gone--but it was Victoria. She was blinking furiously too. Finally she held out her hand to him. After another moment of staring, Victor reached out until he was touching her fingertips with his.

"Oh, Victoria..." Victor couldn't say anything else. He just kept alternating between blinking back tears and smiling what must have been a huge, rather moronic-looking smile. Victoria smiled back.

"Oh, Victor..." she replied, sounding choked. "I...You're here!" Victoria came closer, grasping his hand in both of hers as she did so. She looked up at him, and then, without warning, sprang up and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Apparently her arthritis was gone too.

On instinct, Victor returned her embrace just as fiercely, leaning down to put his cheek on her hair. Oh, how many times they'd hugged like this during their six decades together...

"Victor, I've missed you so much...I don't know whether to be happy or sorry that you're here," Victoria whispered into his ear. "I'm terribly sorry that you died, but...I'm so happy to see you again." She kissed his temple, right next to his ear. How he'd missed those kisses--they were a relatively new development. For the first thirty years they'd been married, Victoria had given up trying to kiss him on the temple--she always ended up with mouthful of his permanently mussed hair. Eventually Victor had started to go bald, so his hair had ceased to be a problem. As soon as Victoria kissed him, though, Victor remembered that they were standing in the middle of a crowded pub.

"Victoria, I've missed you terribly too, but...well, darling, we're in public," Victor said, a little embarrassed. Even so, he didn't find himself moving. He even pulled Victoria a little closer.

Without loosening her grip, Victoria replied with a teary laugh, "Victor, we're old people. We can do what we please."

Victor chuckled into her hair. He remembered the first time she'd said that to him. It had been just a few years before the second war started, when both of them were sixty-five. Victoria had made the executive decision that it was time for them to start sharing a bedroom. With separate beds, though, of course. Victor had been all for it, and had gone out that same afternoon to buy a pair of twin beds. Although, Victor had soon realized that he should have just saved forty pounds and bought the double bed, considering how often the beds were pushed together...Victor sighed. That was a nice memory. He'd gone there often over the past two years.

"And we're dead, besides," Victor said. Maybe that had been a bit too blunt. Still he continued, "You're right--who cares?" With that, he leaned down and gave Victoria a kiss full on the mouth. They'd never, ever kissed in a public place while they were alive. At that moment, Victor couldn't imagine why not.

"Hey, nobody wants to see that!" someone yelled. Soon enough, it seemed as though the whole room was shouting.

"Honestly, some people!"

"You know, there are small children in here!"

"Do you two mind? It makes some of us very uncomfortable to watch our elderly in-laws go at it."

"Yeah...Ted says he's going to throw up."

"How can Ted throw up?"

"Rent a room, why don't you!"

Oh right. _That _was why one never indulged in public displays of affection--everyone else found it utterly revolting. Sheepish, Victor and Victoria pulled apart, and settled for holding hands again. The rest of the pub's patrons went back to what they'd been doing, shaking their heads.

"Shall we find a table?" Victoria asked. She smiled at him. "It's been such a long time. We have quite a bit of catching up to do, I think."

Victor reached out and touched her cheek. "Wonderful idea," he replied. He turned around to scan the room, looking for somewhere to sit. Victoria tugged his sleeve gently.

"Over there, Victor," she said, nodding to a small table near the fireplace. Victor looked. The small table was tucked into a little niche made where the fireplace protruded from the wall. It seemed cozy, if a bit too close to the billiard table.

Victoria led the way as they wound through the throng of people. Finally they seated themselves across from one another. A lamp burned low on the wall above them. Victor took Victoria's hand across the table. He was at a loss for words. Had it really been two years since they'd sat together like this? Victor wondered how he'd managed.

There was so much to say. Wherever to begin? Victor opened his mouth, preparing to speak, and then quickly shut it again. Nothing he could think of seemed like the proper thing to say. Victor was incredibly pleased when Victoria took the initiative, just as she always had when they were alive.

"Oh, Victor, I have so much to ask you!" she said, beaming. "I hardly know where to begin." She paused for a moment, gazing at him. Victor gazed back, feeling the happier than he had for the past two years. Perhaps ever. The only degree of happiness he had in his memory to compare this present feeling to was the way he'd felt when their daughters had been born. And that was a difficult feeling to match.

"I was wondering something," Victoria continued. She dropped her gaze to the tabletop. "I'm just not sure how to phrase it politely." When Victoria looked at him again, Victor noticed that she was staring at the left side of his head. _Oh, no. My eye again?_ He lifted his hand to check. Everything seemed in order. For the time being, anyway.

"It's all right. Go on, Victoria," Victor said slowly, wondering. He thought he knew what was coming. Victoria seemed to consider before she finally asked with concern,

"Victor, dear--What in the world happened to your head?"


	3. The Injury

**III.**

Well. At least Victoria had omitted the expletive. She was watching him with her head tilted to one side. Her expression could have been wifely concern or clinical detachment--Victor couldn't quite tell.

"All right, I give up," Victor said, rubbing his forehead. "_What_ is the matter with my head? You're the third person to bring it up, and I'm beginning to get a little..." Unable to describe his feelings, he didn't bother to finish. Again, Victor reached up with his right hand, but Victoria stopped him.

"No, dear," she said. Pointing, she added, "Check the _left _side of your head."

Victor obliged. He noticed that Victoria was wincing a little. _What's the matter? _he wondered as he felt past the tuft of white hair over his ear. _What could possibly be so wrong with..._

"Argh!" Victor cried as he finally touched his hand to the left side of his head. The startled cry was a bit louder than he meant it to be, judging by the way Victoria jumped. In disbelief, Victor gingerly patted his head. Or rather, the place where his head used to be.

"Part of my head is gone!" he said to Victoria, gaping. Victoria pressed her lips together and clasped her hands.

"It's not...Well, it's not _gone_, exactly," Victoria said reassuringly. Despite her tone, she was grimacing a little. Victor was in a state of semi-shock. _How did I not notice this?_ he asked himself. _Further, how did this happen to me?_ He kept running his hand over the damaged part of his head. There wasn't any hair, but then, there hadn't been for almost twenty years. His ear was still there, but on closer inspection Victor realized that it didn't feel quite right. It was sort of...all over the place. He didn't remember his earlobe ever being so close to his jawbone. Nor had it ever been fused to his skin. After some further prodding along his face (being careful not to dislodge his problem eye), Victor finally realized what that odd texture was that he had noticed earlier. His face felt like wax. And was that...was that some kind of _metal_ _wire _inside his cheek? Victor couldn't help shuddering slightly as Victoria looked on sympathetically. The right side of his head was all right, but the left...Judging by touch alone, he was a mess. Victor could only guess what he looked like. _Maybe I don't want to know,_ he thought, gingerly touching the edge of what felt like a gaping hole right above his left temple.

"I...I am so terribly sorry, Victor," Victoria said, gently pulling his hand away from his head. "Best not to touch it too much--you might make it worse." Victor stared at her.

"Victoria, I haven't got a rash, I'm missing half of my head!"

"Please calm down, Victor. It's not..."

"Not that bad?" Victor finished for her. Victoria gave a helpless sort of shrug. "How can it not be that bad? My cheek is wax, and there's something metal running along my jaw! And I think..." he paused for a moment, and touched his head again. "I think I can feel part of my _brain_!" Now Victor knew how sideshow attractions must have felt. _How...grotesque! _Victoria opened her mouth to say something, but Victor knew what was coming. He held up a hand and said,

"And please don't tell me I'm going to give myself a stroke. It's a little late for that." From the way Victoria rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, Victor knew that he'd correctly interpreted what she'd been about to say. It wasn't that hard. Ever since he'd passed the sixty-years-old mark, Victoria had warned him about giving himself a stroke whenever he so much as got mildly irritated. Well, he felt mildly irritated now. At the very least.

There was a silence as Victor tried again to think of what had possibly happened to him. He couldn't remember a thing. The memory loss actually bothered him more than having his brain partially exposed, he was surprised to realize. Although, there could be a causal relationship there...

Finally Victoria leaned forward and folded her hands on the tabletop. Then she asked gently, "Are you finished now?" Victor almost laughed through his panic and confusion. Victoria sounded just the way she had when their daughters had thrown temper tantrums as toddlers. Instead of laughing, Victor merely dropped his hands into his lap and nodded.

"How terrible is it?" he asked, watching Victoria's face for signs of disgust. Much to his relief, she didn't look disgusted at all. Just concerned, and maybe a little pitying.

"As I said, it's not too awful," Victoria replied. She tilted her head again and regarded him as though she were looking at a particularly interesting painting. "It looks as though the mortician--I'm supposing that's who it was--tried to, er...tried to...sculpt your face back into shape. I think that's why the left side of your face is mostly wax and wires. It also looks like someone made an effort at--this is going to sound quite disgusting--pulling the skin over the hole in your skull. " she finished. Victor's eyes widened, the left one trembling ominously in its socket. He realized that he'd been leaning in as Victoria spoke, his mouth hanging open slightly. He thought about what she'd just said, and then asked,

"So...there's a big hole in my head?" Victor shook his head a little, realizing how stupid that question sounded. "I mean, what does it..._look _like, exactly?" As soon as he'd asked, he wondered if he really wanted to know.

"I'm not really sure how to describe it," Victoria replied. She reached over and gently touched the left side of his face. "You're not exactly missing any...pieces, as it were--I'd say that it looks caved in."

"Caved in?"

"Well, yes. As though something crushed the entire left side of your head, including your face." Victoria put a hand to her mouth and shook her head. "Victor, darling, what in the _world _happened to you?"

"I honestly can't recall, but I don't think I died of natural causes," Victor replied, attempting to be flip. It didn't work. He still felt like a carnival freak. Trying to relieve tension meant that he didn't have to worry about not being able to remember anything about his death. To his surprise, Victoria laughed quietly.

"Well, that much is obvious, dear," she replied, taking his hand again. Victoria grew more serious as she added, "I'm sorry that you didn't get to die quietly in your bed. Was it terrible, whatever happened? Did it hurt much?" She did sound very sorry. How Victor'd missed Victoria worrying about him. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, just as he had so often when they were alive. That's when he noticed that Victoria was missing the middle finger of her right hand. Victor stared down at it as he turned her hand back and forth, momentarily distracted from his own bodily troubles. Victoria realized what he was looking at and tried to pull her hand away, but Victor held on.

"Victoria, what happened to your finger?" he asked, looking up at her. Victoria glanced away, looking a bit embarrassed. Victor couldn't imagine why. "Victoria?" he asked again, concerned.

Finally Victoria met his eyes. "I broke it playing pinball," she said in a tone that suggested she was daring him to laugh at her. Victor, even though he was sympathetic, had to try very hard to keep from doing so. He blinked, and trying to keep the laugh out of his voice, said,

"You broke it--"

"Playing pinball, yes," Victoria interrupted. She looked down at her hand again. "I've gotten surprisingly brittle. A few months ago I was playing a particularly enthusiastic game, and before I knew it, my finger had snapped off. I never found it, either."

Victor patted her hand reassuringly and smiled. "Don't worry about it. It gives your hand...erm, personality." Victoria cocked an eyebrow at him, and then returned his smile.

"Enough about me, though," she said, taking his hand between hers. "How did you die? Do you remember anything at all?"

Victor knitted his eyebrows together and looked down at the table, trying to replay his last memories. He rubbed the right side of his face and started to think aloud, Victoria listening intently.

"Well, I remember getting up. It was raining outside. I was going to Victor's house--you remember Victor, Anne's son?"

"Yes, of course I do. Go on, Victor."

"Yes. Well, I was going to their house for Alice's birthday party, and..."

"Alice!" Victoria interrupted, sounding delighted. Victor wasn't surprised. Alice was their oldest great-grandchild, and so she had always been rather special to the both of them. That, and Alice was the spitting image of Victoria. It was eerie--she _was_ Victoria, only in saddle shoes and sweater sets instead of corsets.

"How old is she now?" Victoria asked, smiling widely.

"Sixteen," Victor replied. "So I left the house, and..."

"What did you get her? Sixteen is a special birthday, you know," Victoria said, squeezing his hand. Victor smiled. He had the feeling that next to himself and the children, Victoria had missed holidays and birthdays most after she'd died. She'd always loved buying or making presents. The past two Christmases especially had been very empty without her. Still, selfish as it might have been, Victor was getting rather anxious to get on with his story before he began to forget again.

"I got her a necklace, a gold one. The man at the jewelry store said that it was a nice one," Victor said, figuring that if he just answered Victoria's question as patiently as possible, she'd be satisfied and he could continue. Sadly, sixty-two years had not been enough time for him to learn how to gauge exactly when Victoria was done speaking.

"I'm sure it was lovely. I wonder if she got it?" Victor was halfway through a shrug when Victoria asked, "How many carats was it?"

Victor rolled his eyes skyward. "Victoria, I don't remember. All I knew was..."

"Was it a locket, or just a necklace?"

"Victoria..."

"Were there any gemstones in it?"

"I...well..." Victor tried to recall what the necklace had looked like, still fearing that a remembering something else would push recollections of his death out of his mind. Still, it was probably best to answer, or they'd be talking about the necklace all day. "It wasn't a locket, exactly, but it had a little...you know, a..._thing. _On a chain. Whatever you call it."

"A 'thing on a chain'..." Victoria said to herself, obviously thinking. "You mean a charm?"

"Close enough," Victor replied quickly. "It was very pretty, and it had little diamonds on it. Now I don't mean to be rude, but may I please get on with my story?"

Victoria looked sheepish. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry darling. Go on." Victor just looked at her, and then pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Now I've completely forgotten what I was saying," he said, a little irritated.

"You were on your way to Alice's party, it was raining outside..." Vicoria said, trying to help prod him along. Victor stayed quiet, picking up the thread of the memory. Suddenly the events of that day came to him in a flash, like a movie going at top speed.

"I remember now!" Victor said, almost in a whisper. He and Victoria inclined their heads toward each other over the table. Victor laid his free hand over Victoria's, running a finger over her knuckles. Victoria was quiet, waiting for him to go on.

"Yes, I can remember it now," he said again. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, and began to speak.


	4. The Accident

**IV.**

"I think...I think I got hit by a bus," Victor blurted before he could stop himself. He remembered it all so clearly now. Opening the gate, stepping into the crosswalk...Before he'd known it, the bus was barreling toward him. Even the memory of the impact was starting to come back. It had hurt. Really hurt. At least before he hit the pavement--and that was the last he remembered. Victor had meant to sort of lead into his declaration, but the words just kind of flew out of his mouth. Victoria did a double take, and then stared at him, her mouth open.

"Hit by a _bus_?" Victoria sounded shocked. She grasped his hand almost convulsively. "A bus? How? My goodness, Victor, that's terrible! Are you sure?" Victor nodded slowly.

"I think so...Yes, I'm sure. I think. As I said, it was raining outside, and I had my big umbrella. My vision was a bit impeded, I suppose. I went down the walk and into the street--you know you have to cross the street to get to Victor and Elizabeth's house--and then I...All right, Victoria, why are you looking at me like that?"

Victoria was giving him the look that she had specialized during their marriage, and only used on select occasions. Roughly translated into words, it meant _"Victor, you idiot." _Of course, Victoria would never say anything like that aloud, so a look had to suffice. Actually, that look was sort of a partner to Victor's _"Victoria, you are completely out of your tree and/or misinterpreting what I said" _stare. Until this moment, Victor had thought he missed sharing those looks.

Anyway, Victoria gave him the look a moment longer before she said in a dumbfounded tone, "Victor, you _know _that's a dangerous intersection in front of our house! And what on earth were you doing walking in the rain? Why didn't you take the car?"

Victor was slightly taken aback. "Because I don't have a driver, Victoria. After you died, I figured I didn't need to use the car all that much anymore. I wasn't doing that much traveling without you." But Victoria was not deterred.

"Well, why not have had Victor or Elizabeth come and get you? It would have been safer. Or you could have just taken the bus. It stops right next door, where the church used to be." Was Victoria implying that his death could have been avoided? Or just that he was a senile old man? Victor wasn't sure. Maybe she wasn't implying anything, and was just concerned. After all, they'd had plenty of arguments quite similar to this one while they'd been breathing. Victor had never really gotten used to how fast the world went nowadays, compared to the way it had been when they were young. It didn't always occur to him to pay all that much attention. Trying to salvage some dignity, Victor replied,

"I didn't want to bother them. I like to walk, and it wasn't far. Barely fifteen minutes. Besides, I hate public transportation."

"Obviously the feeling was mutual."

"That wasn't funny."

"I apologize...But really, Victor, didn't you at least look both ways before you started crossing the street?"

"Of course I did. Victoria, it was not my fault. I'm telling you, the bus came out of nowhere. I saw headlights coming at me, and I sort of froze, and why are you shaking your head at me again?"

"I just can't believe it. I'm sorry darling, but it was a rather bad idea to try to walk across that intersection in the rain."

"As though you never did anything silly!" Victor knew he sounded like a petulant three-year-old, but he couldn't help it. Honestly--they were discussing his _death _for heaven's sake, and all Victoria could think about was how it was _his_ fault. How insensitive! If the positions had been reversed, Victor would have been falling all over himself with sympathy for a run-over Victoria, he was sure. The least she could do was sound a _little_ sorry that a bus had run him down. Honestly.

"Victor, dear, I think walking into _traffic _goes quite beyond silly!" Victoria had a bit of an edge to her voice.

She also had a point, but Victor wasn't going to acknowledge it. He was rather hurt--so he'd made a somewhat...er...well, fatal mistake. So what? Victoria certainly was never immune from error. So Victor reached back into his memory and said, "What about the time you sewed your embroidery to your skirt, and completely ruined your dress?" It was the best he could come up with on short notice. Victoria gazed at him, bewildered.

"Victor, _why _are you bringing that up? It has nothing to do with--"

"And then there was the time you put varnish instead of shoe polish on my best shoes."

"The containers looked the same! And if you'd just polished your own shoes, it never would have happened! Anyway, what about the time _you _hit yourself in the face with your racket playing lawn tennis and broke your nose?"

"_You_ once set your hair on fire standing too close to the gas jet. I told you that huge bouffant or whatever it was was a mistake, but you didn't listen."

"It was called a pompadour, and they were very fashionable! And if I remember correctly, that was the same evening you somehow managed to run into the same closed door _twice_."

"It was dark! How about the time you broke two of your fingers trying to use a laundry press?"

"Victor, that contraption was more difficult to use than you think. Besides, I wasn't the one who concussed myself as I fell screaming down the stairs because I thought I saw a rat in my bedroom."

"I _did _see a rat in my bedroom, and it was enormous! I only panicked because it hissed at me--it could have been carrying the plague or something!"

"Oh, honestly, Victor--the _plague_?"

"You never know, do you? And I also seem to recall the time you tried to bake potatoes, and they wound up exploding." As soon as he said it, Victor had to clench his teeth together to keep from smiling. Just thinking about it made Victor want to laugh.

Victoria's baked potato fiasco was one of Victor's favorite memories. Victoria was never the best of cooks, and the potato incident had occurred rather early on in their marriage, during the time that their two oldest daughters had been little more than babies. She'd wanted to give Mrs. Reed, their housekeeper, some help in return for the help that she'd given Victoria with the children. Victor had said that she could do what she wanted, and kept his mouth shut about her lack of culinary knowledge. Victor had found the look of horrified surprise on poor Victoria's face as she'd surveyed the wreckage of what was supposed to have been food to be absolutely priceless. Victoria had failed to see the humor of the situation until a few days afterward. Her pride had needed some time to recover, Victor supposed. In any case, he'd noticed considerable ebb in her desire to cook after that.

"How was I supposed to know that you have to poke holes in potatoes before you put them in the oven? I'd never cooked before," Victoria returned. She was starting to smile herself now, although she was making a valiant effort to look stern.

Victor coughed to cover his laugh before he replied, "Yes, but dear...One would think you'd have learned by the fourth time you had baked potatoes explode."

Victoria paused. "Did I really manage to blow up potatoes four times?" she asked wonderingly. There was a bit of amusement showing through as well, though. Victor smiled and answered affectionately,

"Yes, you did. In fact, I think that was how you christened the first electric stove we bought. Remember?"

The two of them leaned back toward one another, laughing quietly. "I've missed bickering pointlessly with you, Victoria," Victor said softly, squeezing her fingers. She returned the squeeze, and said,

"I've missed it, too. And I _am _very sorry that you were hit by a bus. I do wish you could have died more peacefully. It didn't hurt, did it?" Victoria paused and took another look at Victor's mangled head. "I suppose that's a silly question, isn't it?"

On impulse Victor reached up and gently touched the caved-in side of his face. "No, not silly...Actually, it only hurt for a minute. I think I was hit pretty hard. I mean, I had just time to register 'A bus hit me, I'm flying through the air, oh look, the pavement' before...before...Well, I guess I died after that. The next thing I knew, I was here."

There was a silence. Victor kept replaying what he remembered of his death through his mind. He couldn't help wondering--if he hadn't been careless, and had avoided the bus...how much longer would he have lived? Would he have gotten ill? Or perhaps just slipped away, as Victoria had? The more he considered, the more he realized that it really didn't bear thinking about. He was dead. He was with Victoria again. He was happier than he had been since her death. Come to think of it, the accident might not have happened had Victoria been there, acting like a sweet old mother hen...Wait. _Mother._ A new thought occurred to Victor.

"Victoria," he said suddenly, as though he'd just had a revelation, "I'm dead." Hold on, that didn't come out right...

"Well, yes," Victoria replied, looking at him quizzically. "And I said I was sorry." Victor waved a hand.

"No, no, that's not what I meant." How to phrase it? Victor scratched the back of his neck before he said slowly, "What I mean is...where is everyone? My parents, your parents? I saw Fred earlier, but so far no one else I know. In fact," Victor looked around the room. "It all seems different than the last time I was here. I don't see anything or anyone that's familiar." _And it's a little worrying,_ Victor added to himself. Though he couldn't quite describe why.

"Well, it has been almost seventy years since you were here last, darling," Victoria replied, speaking as reflectively as he was. She looked at him carefully. "I think that..." she trailed off.

"Yes?" Victor prompted. Victoria seemed to be considering her answer. Finally she stood up. Surprised, Victor just looked up at her, wondering.

"Would you like to take a walk, Victor? Someplace quiet. We can talk."

"Er...haven't we just been talking?"

"I mean more privately."

"Oh. I mean yes. Yes, all right." Victor stood up as well, and out of long habit offered Victoria his arm. She took it, and the two of them walked out of the pub and into the square, saying goodbye to Fred on the way. Victor wasn't sure if Fred had registered that they'd spoken to him--he looked rather plastered.

Victoria was quiet as they walked, so Victor kept his silence as well. _What could she want to talk about? _He allowed Victoria to lead the way as they strolled arm in arm, until Victor found himself in a spot that he remembered rather well.

"Oh..." Victor whispered, taking in the view. Victoria looked up at him, a quiet kind of smile on her face.

"You know this spot, then?" she asked, holding his arm a bit tighter. Victor nodded. It was rather pretty here, just as it had been all those years ago. It nearly took his breath away...well, it would if he had any.


	5. A Confession

**V.**

"Yes, I know this place," Victor said. It was the same railed-in ledge where Emily had told him her name. And given him the remains of his childhood pet for a wedding present. Victor hadn't thought about that in many, many years, not since he'd told the story to Victoria.

The view was rather amazing. This must have been the highest spot in the Land of the Dead. One could even see, off in the distance, what looked like the remains of old catacombs. The music from the Ball and Socket was faintly audible. The only element missing was the sky. Overhead, there was only darkness--it looked like earth. Perpetual twilight down here. Though yellow lamplight glowed here and there from the windows. Obviously the Land of the Dead had never been wired for electricity. The whole scene reminded Victor of his youth, the way the village in the Land of the Living had been when he and Victoria were young. But the memory was only there for a second before it slipped away. Victor closed his eyes for a moment. Try as he might, he couldn't get the image of the village he'd grown up in, and lived in his entire life, to stay in his mind. He could actually feel it growing dimmer. Suddenly he felt Victoria's hand on his arm.

"Come here, Victor. Let's sit down," she said softly, leading him to the rickety wooden bench. Still there, after all these years. They sat down, arms still entwined, and were quiet. Victor gazed out over the rooftops, wondering. The euphoria of seeing Victoria again was beginning to wear off, and again he felt disoriented. Confused. It seemed as though all of the memories of his life were slipping away from him. As a bit of an experiment, he tried to conjure up the faces of his daughters in his mind's eye. With effort, they slowly appeared, only to recede again. What was going on?

"What did you want to talk about, Victoria?" Victor asked, looking down at her. She too was looking out over the landscape, and she didn't turn as she replied,

"You asked about your parents. About why they're not here. About...why everything is unfamiliar." She sounded reflective, almost philosophical.

"So...my parents aren't here?" Victoria turned to look at him as he continued, "But this is the Land of the Dead, isn't it? Shouldn't everyone that's dead be here?"

"At some point, yes," Victoria replied. Victor didn't understand at all. _At some point? _Whatever did that mean? Sensing his confusion, she went on, "I've thought a bit about it, actually, and..."

"But what is this 'it'?" Victor interrupted. Her tone was worrying him a little--it sounded as though she wasn't sure he was going to like what she was going to say. Victor figured that it couldn't possibly be all that bad. After all, they were dead. What kind of bad news could there be?

"I'm getting to it, Victor. But it's hard to explain." She looked away again, lost in her own thoughts. Victor watched her, waiting. Finally Victoria asked, in that same quiet voice, "When did I die? How long ago?"

Victor was a bit perplexed by her question. He couldn't see what it had to do with anything. It seemed the sort of thing that she'd know for herself. Then he recalled how difficult it had been for him to recall his own death, and understood. A little, at least. Victor thought back to their conversation in the pub, and cringed inwardly. He'd been so wrapped up in himself that he hadn't even bothered to ask about what her death had been like.

"Two years, darling. I can't believe I didn't ask you about it...I mean, I...well..." But Victoria waved her hand, and Victor fell silent.

"It doesn't matter. I really don't remember, anyway," she said. She sounded rather nonchalant about it, too, as though it didn't worry her a bit.

"You don't remember?" he asked. How could she not remember at all? _He _remembered it, that was certain. Finding one's wife dead in her bed was a memory that didn't fade all that easily. Still, as he thought about it, Victor found that he could only remember the emotions from that day. What Victoria had looked like, what he had done, how the children had reacted, Victoria's funeral...He was shocked to find that he couldn't remember any of it. Only the dim memory of the pain and loss was there. Somehow, Victor felt incredibly disloyal for managing to forget--especially since he'd thought about it every day for two years.

"This might sound strange," Victor said, looking down at the top of Victoria's head, "But...are you losing memories, too?" With a quick movement Victoria turned to him again.

"'Too?'" she echoed. Victoria stopped, and looked into Victor's eyes. What she was looking for, what she saw there, Victor didn't know. Finally she asked, "So it's happening to you already?" Victoria didn't sound surprised. More like a doctor delivering a diagnosis.

Victor gazed back at her, squinting a little. This was all a bit much--he was having trouble following the conversation. "Happening to me? What do you mean?" She didn't answer right away, merely continued looking at him. "Victoria?" "Would you like to hear a confession, Victor?" Victoria pulled her arm from his and clasped her hands in her lap. The way that she was poking at the stub of her missing finger gave away her discomfort. _A confession?_ Victor wondered. He had officially left confused and was into completely baffled territory now.

"I...well..." Victor scratched the back of his neck. "Er...what sort of confession?" Victoria still looked so dispassionate. What was going on here? After sixty-two years, what could she possibly have to confess now? Especially after death? Victor tried to will Victoria with his mind to look at him, but she seemed engrossed in the patch of mold that was growing on her skirt.

"I won't hurt your feelings?" Victoria asked. _Well, at least she cares about that, _Victor thought, relieved to get another glimpse of the caring, compassionate Victoria that he knew so well. Whatever she needed to say, she could say it.

"No, you won't hurt my feelings," Victor said quickly. Reconsidering, he added, "Or at least if you do, I won't say anything." He closed his eyes for a moment. What a thing to say. _Eighty-three years old, dead, and still saying completely asinine things to my wife_, he thought to himself. But if Victor knew Victoria--and he did--he was sure that she would understand what he'd meant.

Apparently she did, because she smiled faintly. "All right, then," Victoria replied. She reached out her hand, and Victor practically leapt to take it. "I just think that if I tell you, it might help you understand," she continued, pulling his hand in between hers. She still wasn't looking at him, but was keeping her eyes downcast.

Victor nodded, still unsure as to what Victoria was trying to explain. She seemed to be trying to sort out exactly what she wanted to say. Patiently, Victor waited, and used the silence to catch a few strains of the piano music coming from the Ball and Socket.

It wasn't a familiar tune.

**Author's Note:**

One reviewer asked about the timeline in this fic. Since it wasn't signed, I couldn't respond through email--so I'll do it here. I thought the movie took place around 1890, mainly because of the outfits and the general feeling of it being the hey-day of the Victorian era. So if Victor and Victoria were both 19 (again, just the sense of their ages that I got from the film) in 1890, they would have been born in 1871. Add eighty-three years to 1871, and Victor dies in 1954; Victoria in 1952. From what I've written, their youngest child was born in 1901. Does that make sense? Just thought I'd clear that up.


	6. Butterflies

VI.

The piano continued to play, faintly, as Victor and Victoria sat together on the bench in silence. Expectation was beginning to wear on Victor. He wondered, again, exactly what Victoria was going to tell him. He wished she'd get on with it, but he didn't say anything. Victoria seemed rather uncomfortable, after all, so Victor figured he'd just have to wait. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Victoria straightened her shoulders and began.

"As I said, Victor," Victoria said, sounding as though she were presenting a case to a magistrate, "I think that once I tell you this, you might understand what's going on a bit better. About being...well..."

"Dead?" Victor supplied.

"Yes. But more than that, really. I...oh, how to say this?" The question seemed to be rhetorical, so Victor didn't say anything. He merely leaned toward her a little, in order to hear her better. After a moment, Victoria continued, "You see, I don't remember my death at all, not anymore. I knew what had happened after I arrived here, but at some point I forgot. All I remember is _remembering_, if that makes any sense." It didn't, but Victor nodded anyway.

"When I first arrived down here, I thought about you and the children all the time. I wondered how you were, I worried about what you all must have been feeling...but after a while, I'm not quite sure when, I just...stopped. It all began to fade away. Then something would happen, or someone would say something that reminded me of my life, and everything would come back again. But never for a long time--only just a moment or two. And the worst part, what I felt very guilty about until I gave it some consideration, was that...well..." Again she paused, and Victor wanted to scream. He understood the feeling that she was talking about--he'd felt it himself. Just not to the extent that she had. Victor wanted to say, _"Please go on, you're going to kill me," _but that seemed like a bad choice of words. Besides, he didn't want to break Victoria's train of thought. This was rather interesting. But where was this confession of hers? As he wondered, Victoria picked up her monologue again, still speaking in that slightly detached tone.

"What made me feel guilty at first," she said again, "was that it didn't seem to _matter _that I was forgetting. Being...oh, what's the word..._disconnected_, I suppose--it seemed almost natural. Yet I kept wondering about how forgetting my husband, and my children, and my family could possibly be natural. The feeling was there, though." Victoria turned fully toward him, and held his hand a little tighter. "Victor, until you walked into the pub today, I'd forgotten all about you."

Victor didn't respond. He couldn't. What was a suitable answer for something like that? He wondered vaguely why he wasn't offended by being forgotten. Part of his mind told him that he probably _should_ be hurt by it, but he wasn't. In life, definitely--an admission like that would have thrown him into a three-day sulk. But now...

"But seeing you again brought it all back," Victoria continued quickly. Even though he didn't say anything, Victor hoped that she hadn't mistaken his silence for anger or hurt feelings. He was just trying to wrap his mind around this incredibly strange conversation they were having. Victoria went on, "I realized how much I'd missed you as soon as I saw you. And how much I loved you. _Love_ you, I mean. But before today, I'd completely forgotten that I was ever in love with anybody. I didn't even remember being married." She looked away from him again, and murmured, "It must sound terrible, I know. And I feel just awful about it. And yet..." Victoria trailed off, apparently changing her mind, and instead finished with, "That's what I wanted to confess. I don't know...I thought perhaps it would give you an idea of how much forgetting one actually does down here."

She seemed to be finished. Victor knew she was waiting for some kind of response, but he still didn't know what to say. Relief was flooding through him. _Was _that _all? _he asked himself. For some reason, it really didn't seem to be that much of an issue.

"Oh, please tell me you're not upset." Victoria seemed terribly worried. There was a look of guilt on her face that Victor hated to see. He felt a little guilty as well--guilty for not being more offended by something that obviously had caused Victoria an awful lot of angst.

"No," Victor replied. Then seeing Victoria's hurt look, he rushed on, "No, no, what I _meant _was 'no, I'm not upset.' It's just...Victoria, you frightened me! For heaven's sake, I thought you were going to come out with some big revelation." He felt Victoria give a little start beside him, but he continued, "Honestly--you remember me _now_, and I never forgot _you_, so...I mean..." Victor trailed off. That had more than likely been the wrong thing to say.

Victoria stared at him. "You don't think that my forgetting that we were _married _is a big revelation?" She crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips together. Victor looked down at his feet for a moment. Fantastic. Now he'd gotten himself into trouble.

"Well, it _is_, I suppose..." Victor rubbed his forehead tiredly. "But the way you were building it up, I thought you were going to tell me that you once set fire to an orphanage or were a spy for the Germans during the war or that our children weren't mine or something." He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "Don't _do _that to me," he added, with as much mirth as he could gather. The playful gesture and tone were intended to make Victoria smile, but it didn't work.

He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. But really--all that build-up for a confession that...well, really didn't surprise him, considering his own inability to remember aspects of his life. As he sat wondering just how much he'd annoyed Victoria, Victor ran what he'd just said back through his mind. Against his better judgment, he looked at his feet and asked in an embarrassed tone,

"The children..." He faltered, and then finished in a rush, "they _were_ mine, weren't they?" That last bit came out in little more than a whisper. Victor looked up to see Victoria staring at him with an expression halfway between disbelief and disgust. The effect would have been better had she had more nose to wrinkle, but Victor understood that he had just asked one of his patented Incredibly Stupid and Inappropriate Questions.

She pulled back from him a little, and said, "Victor, are you _joking_? What a thing to ask me! For heaven's sake...I...you..." Victoria shook her head before meeting his eyes again. "Of _course _they were! How _dare _you?"

In spite of himself, Victor was a little relieved. He tried not to show it. Instead, he mumbled an apology and attempted to look suitably chastised.

Victoria didn't say anything more. For a moment they just sat there, Victor's arm around her. That was something--at least she hadn't pushed his arm away. Finally Victor said, "I have a question."

"Is it as good as your last one?" Victoria rarely spoke sharply or sarcastically, but when she did...wow. Victor blanched.

"Yes?" Victoria said in a milder tone. Heartened a bit, Victor pressed on.

"If we're losing memories--and I know I am, I can feel it--how did we manage to have a proper bicker about little things that happened fifty years ago?" It seemed remarkable to Victor that he could have trouble remembering his children, but recall Victoria's problems with potatoes. Equally remarkable that Victoria could forget _him_, and then remember that incident with the rat. After another pause, Victoria shrugged slightly.

"I haven't any idea, Victor. Odd, the things you recall sometimes. And another odd thing," Victoria reached over and took Victor's hand, "is how natural it feels. To begin to lose it all. Do you know what I mean?" Victor nodded. He still felt slightly confused, but it was beginning to make sense...despite the fact that he wouldn't have been able to explain it in words if pressed. It was more of a feeling. No wonder Victoria was speaking so oddly. It was an odd subject, one that almost defied words.

"I think I do," Victor replied slowly. "I feel so distant already. I mean, I noticed it when I first got here, and I still feel it."

"You haven't been here long," Victoria replied.

"True...I can imagine that the distance gets bigger the longer you're here. Am I right?" He turned to Victoria to find her gazing at him intently. She nodded in response to his question. If either of them had had breath in their bodies, they would have sighed.

Victoria leaned her head against his shoulder and said quietly, "It almost feels as though we're...waiting."

"Waiting?"

"Yes. For...something. Don't you feel it? You lose all track of time here, and the most unsettling part of it all is that it doesn't really matter. We rot, fall apart...What then? From what I've heard, some people are only here for a little while. Others are here long enough to turn completely to dust. Oddly, though, nobody's here for longer than about forty years. In any case, no one can remember anyone from that long ago." She lifted her head to look at him. "Why do you suppose that is?"

Now it was Victor's turn to shrug. "I truly couldn't tell you, Victoria." There was a time limit for how long someone was here? That was news to Victor. But he did have some little inkling of the waiting that Victoria was talking about. Maybe that's what had happened to...Victor thought for a moment.

Suddenly he recalled the butterflies. Emily's words. _"You set me free."_ At the time, Victor hadn't quite understood what she'd meant. For a while afterward, he'd even had the feeling that the butterfly trick was just a dramatic exit. Yet as he had considered it further in the weeks following that night, he knew that that wasn't so. It had been an exit, all right, but not solely for symbolic purposes. Emily really was gone. What was that phrase people liked to use? "Moved on?" That seemed about right. Something had told Victor that Emily hadn't gone back to her dark grave under that oak tree; she'd really been done. For good. And it wasn't a sad thing at all. All of these thoughts had been in the back of Victor's mind all of his life, after that night in the chapel. He'd always thought of Emily has a good friend that he'd known for a while, but then lost. Yet, "lost" probably wasn't the right word. They'd both gained. Emily had been "set free," whatever that meant, and Victor had realized that life didn't have to be boring or repressive or sad. Life is what one was willing to make of it. There were societal rules, of course, and drudgery, and the parties weren't as rowdy, but life had its advantages. There was sunshine, for one thing. Birds, cozy afternoons in the parlor with loved ones, Christmases...and there were children. Victor, each of the four times he'd held a brand-new baby, had withered a little inside when he realized how close he'd come to missing all of it. Children. His and Victoria's children. Faces that he couldn't remember now. And yet, just as it had when he'd first entered the Ball and Socket earlier, the thought occurred to him that life was over. But death was just beginning. Butterflies...In one bright flash of a moment, Victor understood absolutely everything.

Then it was gone again.


	7. Philosophy

VII.

"I beg your pardon?" Victoria asked. It seemed as though her voice was coming from rather far away, and it took Victor a moment to respond.

"I'm sorry?" he asked in return. Without thinking he gave his head a little shake to clear it, and only at the last moment remembered to clamp a hand over his left eye to keep it in place. _I'll have to get used to that,_ Victor thought as he secured his eyeball in its socket.

"You're mumbling to yourself," Victoria replied. "What were you thinking about?"

_What **was **I thinking about? _Victor wondered. How to put it into words? "I just..." he said, more to fill the silence as he considered than anything else. He rested his chin on the top of Victoria's head, his mind full of nothing but that vision of butterflies.

"Yes?" Victoria prompted gently. "What is it, Victor?"

"For a moment I thought I had it all figured out," Victor said slowly, staring out into the distance. "Then it just sort of...slipped away."

Victoria seemed to understand. She patted his knee and said, "That happens. Little glimpses here and there, and then it's gone again." Victor was a little surprised that she seemed to know exactly what he meant, until he realized that she'd been here much longer. More time to think about...things...Victor sincerely wished that he could stop thinking in such generalities. But there weren't really any words. Death wasn't all loud parties and frivolous drinking, apparently. There was some thinking to be done as well.

"It happens to everyone," Victoria said again. "Don't be worried. Along with all of that forgetting, one does some remembering too." Victor looked down at the top of her head. What an odd thing to say.

"Remembering?" Victor asked vaguely. He smiled a little. "You mean the sort of remembering that includes memories of how your husband never polished his own shoes?"

Victoria nudged him with her shoulder as she said, "No, that's not what I mean. It's more like...remembering something you never knew you knew. But that you knew all the same." A short silence followed this pronouncement.

"Forgive me," Victor finally said, "but _what_?"

Victoria pulled her head out from under his chin, and leaned away so that she could look him in the eye.

"I really don't know," Victoria replied. She sounded as though she'd confused herself a bit along with Victor. "Just that...well..." Victoria stopped to think, and then continued, "Maybe that there's something in everybody. That part of us that feels as though it's waiting for something. A part that we never really realized was there while we were alive, because we never needed to." She leaned her head against his shoulder again. "Am I making any sense at all?" she asked.

Victor almost went with his knee-jerk reaction, which was _None whatsoever--you're confusing me even more_, but then he took a moment to really think over what Victoria had said. Suddenly it began to make a bit more sense.

"I think you are," Victor replied. "It just takes some thinking about."

So for a moment, they both just sat and thought, Victor letting his mangled cheek rest against Victoria's hair. Everything was quiet. Quiet, except for some distant thuds, crashes, and shouts. It sounded as though a bit of a brawl had broken out over at the Ball and Socket. While listening to what sounded like some shattering glass, Victor had an idea.

"Maybe," he said, "Maybe that remembering you talked about--or _realizing_, I guess--I think...I think it might have something to do with all of the forgetting."

"Hmm," Victoria replied. Victor took that noncommittal "hmm" to mean, _You aren't coming through._ So he elaborated, his thoughts turning into words almost as soon as they occurred to him.

"I suppose what I mean is that we all forget, but it isn't really _forgetting _so much as...well...letting go. And it doesn't matter because it's supposed to happen, because...Well, I don't know the 'because' just yet, but it's something natural. It seems to me," Victor straightened, getting into his stride, and Victoria looked up at him as he rattled on,

"It seems to me that the realizing _is _the letting go, or the forgetting, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe that's why some people are here longer than others--some people have a harder time letting go. And some..." Emily's face flashed in Victor's mind, and he continued more slowly, "Some need help to do it, for whatever reason. And when we can finally let go--butterflies!" Victor emphasized that last with a wave of his hand, overcome with his own philosophical brilliance.

Victoria just continued to look at him. Victor had the idea that she might be thinking that the severe blow to the head he'd received had caused more damage than she'd thought. But instead of calling him crazy, Victoria nodded slowly.

"Butterflies," she repeated softly. "I think you might have something. Victor, that actually makes quite a bit of sense."

At least she agreed with him. Victor could have done without the surprised tone she'd used while she'd said it, but she agreed all the same.

"So," Victor said, still feeling rather proud of himself, "What do we do now?" There was an awful lot of time to fill between the present moment and transcendence, after all. No wonder there were so many parties down here.

"Now that we have the mysteries of existence figured out, you mean?" Victoria asked with a smile. Victor chuckled quietly as she continued, "I'd say it's time I taught you how to play pinball, darling."

"Ah," Victor said, "Are you sure all of those young boyfriends of yours won't be upset?" Victoria laughed in her throat as she shook her head at him. Victor edged a bit closer to her on the bench.

"Incidentally," Victor asked nonchalantly, as though it had just occurred to him, "how long have you been...'entertaining the troops,' as it were?"

"Oh, stop that." Victoria elbowed him in the ribs, laughing out loud now. She reached up and gently tugged on the lapel of his suit jacket. "Do you want to play a game of pinball with your wife or not?"

Victor smiled at her. "Of course I do. Maybe I'll try a pint or two of whatever Fred was drinking earlier, too." Victoria returned his smile before she shrugged.

"At least you know it won't kill you," she said, standing up. Victoria held out her hand, and Victor took it as he hoisted himself from the bench. It was wonderful to be able to sit on a hard bench for more than ten minutes without losing all of the feeling in his legs. It had been a while since he'd been able to do that. As he held Victoria's nearly fleshless hand, though, Victor noticed that he couldn't actually _feel _it. He knew what it was _supposed _to feel like--just as he knew, after over sixty years of experience, what kissing Victoria felt like...And yet, Victor suddenly realized that he was only getting impressions of feelings. Not emotions, those were still real enough--but his sense of touch was sorely lacking. Still, Victor didn't let it bother him. After all, it was probably just another one of those things that happened to absolutely everybody. Nothing to worry himself over. The time for worrying was well over with. Death was, really, just a different kind of life.

_A bit of a poor imitation, though, _Victor thought to himself as Victoria slipped her arm through his and led the way down the narrow staircase. And as for what happened after...who knew what that was? As much as he wanted to derail it, the train of thought kept right on going.

Every feeling was somewhat...well, deadened down here. Victor forgave himself the awful pun simply because it was the truth. Had this existence, such as it was, really seemed worth it to him, maybe even somehow romantic, when he was young? True, there weren't any restrictions here, no rules, no worries...those belonged to the realm of the living. But there was so much more to it than that! Being _alive_...To be _aware_, to see a flower blooming, or leaves changing, or water running. The sun coming up in the morning, the moonlight. To be able to smell things, taste things, to really be able to _feel_. Victor realized again how much he would have missed; all for the sake of something that seemed like it would be more fun, more colorful, and livelier, than the repressive life he'd known as a young man. But the world wasn't really gray, he'd found. Somehow, after that night with the butterflies, life had seemed much brighter. More than anything else in the world, Victor was grateful that he'd had the chance to live.

And now it was time for a pint and a game of pinball with his wife.

_End._


End file.
